


Script Kiddie

by Lost_Elf



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: A lot of rape, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Dark, Anal Fisting, Angel doesn’t exist because I don’t want her to be in such a dirty universe, Angst and Porn, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Jack, Badwrong, Blood and Violence, Bottom Rhys (Borderlands), Brainwashing, Collars, Daddy Kink, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Heavy Angst, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, Master/Slave, No Refractory Period, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Jack, Torture, Wrong, and more - Freeform, so wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Elf/pseuds/Lost_Elf
Summary: After being demoted to Assistant Vice Janitor, Rhys decides to take some of his dignity back and start over. And to do that, he decides he needs to borrow some money from Hyperion. But as he digs into the system, he encounters security protocols. His attempts to not be stopped seem useless until suddenly, the security protocols fail one by one, allowing Dahl troops to infiltrate the station and kill a lot of people. Not a major fuckup, honestly, but a fuckup Handsome Jack personally will punish him for.Rhys is a twink and cute. Handsome Jack likes roughing up cute creatures like the boy he caught in the act of poorly thought-out stealing. He’s gonna have fun.20K words of dark, non-con smut ensues.**Not everything this work contains is in the tags. See the end note for the full list of warnings and smut. Especially the smutty things I didn't even bother tagging. There is *SPOILERS* fisting, spanking, whipping, cockwarming, come eating, unconscious/sleep sex, toys (all of them), bloodplay, branding... a lot of things.**
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83





	Script Kiddie

**Author's Note:**

> This is in no way a representation of healthy kink. This is not BDSM, CNC or the representation of sadism as a kink. This is written to be wrong.
> 
> About the usage of the word twink in this work: I’m not trying to insult anyone or spread misconceptions about the group of people who address themselves as such. Jack is just an asshole, and Rhys is very confused.
> 
> The same applies to all the kinks mentioned.
> 
> In the end note, I made a list of all the smutty concepts that appear in this work (basically EVERYTHING). If you don't want spoilers and won't read it, please, note that this work contains one short scene with pissplay, waterboarding, a lot of violence and some other triggers like emotional manipulation.
> 
> For all the fucked up folks like me out there, enjoy! ^.^

_“But you – I respect you, Rhys. That’s why I’m going to make you… Assistant Vice Janitor.”_

Vasquez’s words haunted Rhys every day when he got up to work. At 4 AM, every morning. From a middle manager job at which he was freakin’ good and where he was happy, he went to a fucking janitor.

It was a matter of time before Rhys patience ran out, and to his shame, it was soon. Vasquez broke him too quickly. But that doesn’t matter now, because nobody needs to know that. Nobody will ask why he quit when he is rich.

Yes, you heard right. Rhys is gonna be _Rich_ in a few minutes. He’s already picked a Hyperion shuttle he is going to own, he’s picked his dream destination, and he is just about to steal some small change from his past job, and then he will be gone and happy. Fuck Hyperion.

Rhys is a good hacker, and he is ready. He’d been prodding at Hyperion’s security for the past weeks, and he knows what to expect. With a last large gulp of a cheap energy drink he connects his cybernetic arm to the wall panel he is leaning on and immediately starts his attack.

If he does this right, no-one will even notice him. Just walk around all the walls guarding Hyperion’s funds, withdraw a few million, then change the ownership on one of the ships, and he is free to go. Rhys had already tried to do this yesterday. Not all the way, to not raise suspicion, but he walked the metaphorical cyber-paths far enough to know what they look like.

Something is different today, however. Just as he is about to let the money flow from one bank account to another, he is stopped by a protocol with a strange name – HJ-c45hb0y.exe. The _exe_ is what makes him frown. This doesn’t look like a security protocol.

Rhys tries to make the popup disappear, but it launches an application, or rather… a minigame? It looks and acts like a minigame. There is even score, which looks suspiciously like the disposal in Rhys’ bank account.

When he keeps staring, the game launches, and the score starts dropping, dollar by dollar. He doesn’t try to play, because the game is clearly impossible to win, everything moving too fast. Instead, he opens another screen and tries to shut the protocol down.

And to his surprise, it works. The game disappears, and Rhys is free to withdraw the money.

The same situation occurs when he steals the ship. He is stopped by a silly minigame, this one looking like Space Invaders on impossible difficulty, but he is able to shut it pretty quickly now that he knows how.

Just as Rhys is about to test his luck with altering Vasquez’s personal file, drunk on power and the ego trip this experience gave him, an alarm starts blaring.

 _“All Hyperion employees on floors 32 and lower, please return to your home,”_ a monotone woman voice speaks. _“Try to not get yourself killed by the Dahl troops on the way, thank you. Also, whoever brings our handsome CEO the asshole who broke Hyperion’s security protocols will get a fat bonus and a promotion. All troops to dock 14-A. Kill the idiots, tear their balls off and shove them I don’t know where. Be creative. Go. Chop-chop.”_

Rhys gulps. What has he done?

The alarm keeps blaring, and Rhys eventually realises that he needs to go. Disappear, ideally. But just as he stands up, another person walks into the room. A room that shouldn’t be accessible, in an unfinished part of Helios.

“Hello there, kitten,” the person speaks, and Rhys doesn’t even need light to know who it is, and it feels surreal. How could he screw up so bad? “Is this my lucky day? Is this my birthday? Because I haven’t received a gift like this in a looong time…” Handsome Jack says as he circles around the janitor, looking him up and down.

Rhys can only stand the piercing look for so long before his instincts win, and he runs to the door. It’s locked, but that’s a child’s play for him, and the door opens in less than three second. He hears Handsome Jack’s whistle, and then his footsteps.

The young man owns a pair of long legs, but the CEO still catches him pretty soon, pulling him to the ground. “Where do you think you are going, cupcake?!” he growls. “You have some explaining to do.”

“I’m sorry!” Rhys blurts out.

“You will be. Now, get up,” Jack pulls him up by his collar. “And don’t try to run again or I cut your legs off, and then we try again,” he warns him and then lets go of him completely, walking towards an elevator.

Rhys has no other option than to follow.

* * *

***HJ***

_“Assistant Vice Janitor Rhys to sector D451 for trash clean-up, because that is your job – clean up trash with your bare hands.”_

Jack chuckled as he heard the announcement. He liked it when his employees knew how to take advantage of the Helios inner system. Stealing money? No! Bullying other employees and being funny? Yes please!

He found it amusing for another five seconds, and then he forgot about this “Rhys” completely, his attention turning to much more important business.

* * *

***HJ***

That was until this one nice Friday. He was just thinking about lunch when a notification told him that some idiot is trying to directly steal money from Hyperion. He looked up their ID, personal file, and the feed from security in the area where they are.

The feed came out blank, asshole’s hiding in an unfinished part, but the rest was a Mercenary Day gift to Jack. _Rhys, Assistant Vice Janitor_. He remembered that guy immediately, and he laughed. The kid had to be a complete moron.

His employee file showed quite the opposite – quite smart, actually, but at Hyperion, brain is not everything, and good programming skills didn’t save that dude from making a terrible mistake. But Jack is a benevolent god, and he can postpone killing him, because besides everything else, the kid is definitely hot. Just his type. Yeah, they will have fun.

Jack starts shutting his computer down, on his way to the boy’s location, when he sees something he never considered possible. A warning appears on the screen, telling him that Helios security has been breached. They are under attack.

“Son of a taint!” he swears as he gives out orders and quickly launches his backup security.

* * *

In the elevator, Handsome Jack’s ECHO starts beeping, and with a curse he changes their course, going down first. Any time Rhys tries to speak, the CEO makes a shushing sound like Rhys was a disobedient child, and so he just follows him silently, preparing to beg forgiveness later.

He knows it will be useless. Handsome Jack never forgives. Especially traitors, and that’s what Rhys’s become.

He recognises the floor as one of the docking floors, and he gulps. Is he going to be airlocked? Tied to a ship and shot into space? Both seem like a quick, but still painful, death, and he is not sure how he feels about it. Can he beg for a bullet to the head?

They walk through a few empty corridors until they are not empty anymore, and Rhys has to fight the urge to throw up.

There are dead bodies.

Dead people – shot and cut open.

Handsome Jack doesn’t even glance at them as he walks with certitude only he can pull off during/after an invasion. He meets the chief of security who contacted him, briefly talks to him, and then he turns around, smirking at Rhys’ paleness.

The guard listed the casualties – thirteen dead security members, one hundred and twenty other personnel deaths, all forty-five of the attackers eliminated.

Rhys caused one hundred and seventy-eight people to die. The thought wipes out anything else in his head, and he can only think about that as Jack leads him to the elevator again, this time going up.

When they reach the desired floor, Jack tugs him forward by his tie, and Rhys obediently follows into the CEO’s office.

“Now,” Jack starts speaking, getting the full of the janitor’s attention before Rhys can even begin to look around, “as you might have noticed, there had been a security breech.” He clasps his hands together and looks at Rhys like he was scolding a child.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry, sir,” Rhys stammers. “I-I d-didn’t know w-what I was doing.”

“I bet,” Jack laughs. “But you did it. You confess?”

Rhys nods. Does he even have the chance not to? What would Handsome Jack do if he refused to confess? “Please, don’t kill me,” he blurts out. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Jack laughs again. “Don’t worry, cupcake. I’m not going to kill you yet.” He walks to his desk, motioning for Rhys to follow him. “First, I want to show you what happens to people who mess with my security.”

Rhys’ whole body is shaking by that point. He is forced to stand next to the CEO, who is now leaning down on his desk and typing at the computer. He pulls out a satellite photo, and steps away, letting Rhys to look at it.

“Look here, at the smoldering hole that used to be a bandit camp,” Jack enhances the satellite picture until the crater is clearly visible. “Those guys caused the security protocols to fail by hacking into Helios’ systems at the time you decided to have your little adventure. And so, I moonshot them out of existence.” He sounds smug and delighted at their death, and he probably has the right to be.

Irrationally, Rhys’ shoulders sag in relief. “So, it wasn’t me?” So, it wasn’t him who caused the deaths. He was just there at the same time. He is not a murderer, and maybe Jack will even let him go with a warning.

" _What_ ,” Jack barks a laugh. “You really thought a _script kiddie_ like you could cause the whole Helios security system that **_I_** wrote to crumple like a house of cards?! That's _hilarious_ , Rhysie!"

“Then why am I here?” he asks, voice low and body tense again. Rhys has a habit of putting his foot in his mouth, and this is one of the moments when he really should have stayed quiet – he realises too late.

Jack lunges forward, taking hold of Rhys’ hair and pulling him down. His face is pressed on the desk, Jack keeping him down by the hair and a forearm on his back. “Because,” he growls straight into his ear, “you tried to steal from Hyperion. And I won’t tolerate that, especially from janitors and self-called hackers.” The tone of his voice made Rhys tremble in fear, but it was nothing compared to what came next.

“You see, princess, you are just my type,” he says as he runs one hand down his side. “Have you heard the rumours?” He did, of course Rhys heard all the rumours when browsing fan forums. “I like to play rough with twinks in my free time,” Jack admits. “Pretty guys like you. The problem is that none of them come back after I’m done with them. Some of them have trouble leaving on their own. Some of them have a trouble breathing... Because they are dead, you get it?”

Rhys nods. He feels tears at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill, but something tells him that tears won’t work on Jack. Or they will, but not in the way he needs.

“Please, sir, have mercy. I’m so sorry,” he begs. “I c-can repay you, o-or—”

“Repay me?” Jack laughs. “You didn’t make any damage, I already told ya, kiddo.”

“I’ll never do it again,” the brunette sobs, finally giving in to his despair. “Please...”

“Mmm, say that again, but more desperate,” Jack hums, mindlessly stroking the younger man's back.

What else can he do than obey? “Please...” But the reaction he gets is not mercy. He feels Jack’s erection clad in tight pants pressing on his ass.

“So, Rhys,” Jack says, not growling anymore, but still terrifying. “Tell me. You are a huge Handsome Jack fan, according to your files. Did you ever dream about being fucked bent over my desk?” There is an audible smirk in his voice when he grinds into Rhys’ rear.

Rhys keeps quiet. Yes, of course he did dream about that. But it was supposed to be different. He was to impress Jack with his work, or just pick him up randomly in a bar, and not _this_.

“Answer me, kid,” Jack tightens his hold on Rhys’ hair. “Don’t make me punish you more.”

“Yes, I did!” he blurts out, voice high with pain and fear. “But it was different…”

Jack laughs. “Well, sorry that the original is not as your fantasy. So,” he suddenly lets go of him, “this is how it’s gonna go: If you are good, I’ll prep you enough. If you misbehave, I don’t have a problem putting it in you without a drop or lube. Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir…” He doesn’t dare to turn around, or move at all, so he doesn’t see the leer Jack is giving him. Rhys is currently praying for a quick death, and Jack didn’t even begin yet. What will he pray for when the pain truly starts? And there will be pain, if the echonet is right.

“Good,” Jack pats his ass like he was praising an animal. “Strip, give me your tie, and then lay on the desk here,” he pats a particular spot, and Rhys will be sure to lay in _that exact_ spot later.

His legs almost give in when he stands on them, but he doesn’t allow himself time to wait for the dizziness to pass. After handing over his tie, Rhys begins to strip. _Oh God_ , he thinks. _This really is happening._

Would Jack airlock him if he didn’t obey? No, probably not. He’d just take him without prepping, and Rhys has never even been able to take in two fingers without prepping himself with one. He will need all of Jack’s pity points if he doesn’t want to be torn. And so, wanting to survive this, or at least suffer as little as possible before death, Rhys quickly strips all of his clothes, leaving it in a heap by the desk.

The wood is cold and smooth as he leans on it. He closes his eyes and spreads his legs a little, hoping to gain some bonus points too. But more than inviting he probably looks pathetic. Body shaking so much that the coffee cup on Jack’s desk occasionally makes a sound, face wet with tears, and don’t forget that Rhys is no supermodel. Just a regular guy, nothing special about him. He feels exposed, humiliated, and most of all _stupid_.

“See, you can be a good boy,” Jack smirks behind him. And in that moment, no matter how horrible the situation, it warms Rhys a little. Maybe Jack won’t hurt him that much, he thinks. That, of course, goes away when his tie is fastened on his neck, the knot replaced by a simpler one that tightens easily. Jack put a leash on him.

After a few testing tugs, Jack ties the other end of the tie to a hand skeleton statue on his desk. Rhys has very little space to move his head now, but he doesn’t try to. He keeps his eyes closed and mind blank, trying to imagine that he is somewhere else, somewhere nice with someone who isn’t trying to rape him. He heard that rape victims can practically leave their bodies when these things happen. He tries to do just that.

“You still there, kiddo?” Jack teases, but he doesn’t sound angry about it yet. A slick finger is pressing at Rhys’ entrance, but not in. Jack teases the tight ring of muscles almost gently, like a lover would. “I can make the first round nice for you, if you want. But you gonna have to be real good.”

Rhys manages not to tense up when Jack pushes the finger in. He is slow and careful, and it makes it so easy to pretend that everything will be alright. He can’t forget where he is, or how he got here, but he is willing to believe that Jack really will just fuck him just like Rhys fucks himself with a dildo, and then he will be released with a warning.

Second finger is added, and it’s not even too soon. It is a little hard, but Rhys can handle it. And when Jack crooks his fingers, searches for a little, he manages to find _that_ spot, and Rhys moans lightly.

“This is your sweet spot?” Jack asks, teasing it again. “Yeah, definitely. Just look at you, you like it! Good boy…”

All the sweet talk and the gentleness mess with Rhys’ brain, and when Jack teases the spot again and again, a single “Jack!” escapes his mouth.

Immediately, the fingers are pulled out, none too gently. “Did I say you can call me by name?” Jack tugs at the leash, pulling Rhys’ head up by the neck and inevitably choking him.

“I’m s-sorry, sir!” he gasps out, but he doesn’t dare to try and pull at the tie to loosen it. And maybe that is the reason why Jack calms down before actually strangling him.

“If this happens again, nice times are over,” he warns and goes back to prepping Rhys. He makes sure to not touch the sweet spot again, but he is still gentle. “Next time,” he chuckles, “call me Daddy.” He adds a third finger.

Rhys gulps. It’s still possible to imagine this will be nice, but he doesn’t try. He doesn’t want to angry Jack further. Maybe he can manage that. Maybe he can survive if he tries.

“You nice and ready?” Jack coos behind him, pulling his fingers out.

Rhys nods, but then he musters courage to actually speak. “Yes… Daddy. I’m ready for… your cock.” If this is what Jack wants, he might be nice if Rhys plays along, right?

The resulting laugh is mean. “Nice! I found myself a cockslut!” The CEO notices the wince this word causes in Rhys, and he repeats it. “What? Aren’t you daddy’s little cockslut? Aren’t you hungry for my cock?”

Jack is still dressed, not fucking Rhys, and the younger man almost wants to ask what is he waiting for. He bites his tongue to not say anything stupid and waits. Soon enough, he hears the belt buckle clinking, and Jack pulling the belt out of his pants.

“Now, I feel that a little punishment is in place, cupcake,” he says in a voice that could mean disappointment if Jack wasn’t so obviously having fun. “You addressed me inappropriately. But it was just once, so I will be generous and let you choose. Either I spank you, five hits on each cheek, or you don’t get to come.” He runs a finger teasingly up Rhys’ spine and down again.

Rhys would like to fight for his dignity, avoid pain and the humiliation of coming while being raped by his boss. But he is pretty sure that if he chooses that option, Jack will make him regret it. There are so many ways to do so, and the young man isn’t a fan of edging. Spanking is just… light pain. Familiar, if the few experiences he had with his boyfriends and girlfriends are anything comparable to what Handsome Jack has for him.

Another hard swallow, and Rhys makes his choice. “Spank me… Daddy.”

“Say please.”

Tears well up in his eyes again, face burning in shame, but he really just wants to survive this, and he keeps telling himself that. “Please, spank me, Daddy.”

Rhys screams in the next second, as the leather belt hits his cheek. Jack didn’t warn him, didn’t start slow, put all of his force into it, and used a fucking _leather belt_. Rhys can feel a sting where his skin split and a tickle of blood running down his thigh.

Jack noticed it too, and there is fascination and lust in his voice when he speaks, running a finger over the cut. “Oh-hoho, you are so fragile! We’re gonna have a lot of fun, baby!” He takes a step back and carries out the rest of the punishment.

One minute later, Rhys is sure he has never been spanked before, if this is what is called spanking. There are no other pauses, no switching from one side to another. Jack deals four hits on his right cheek, and then five on the left. All of them just as strong as the first one, and Rhys screams through the whole ordeal.

He heaves and whimpers in pain, eyes wide open, and if he thought Jack would give him a second to compose himself, he was just naïve. Jack is behind him, pants already pushed down, cock lubed up. “Brace yourself, princess,” he warns and starts pushing in.

It’s the contrast what makes Rhys break down and cry. Jack keeps his promise, pushing in gently and slowly, giving him time to relax the muscles that are tense after the beating. The same man that gave him the beating of a lifetime in less than two minutes. Rhys sobs weakly, limp on the desk as he takes anything Jack gives, too broken to do anything else.

“Giving up already, sweet cheeks?” Jack teases. “You were supposed to have fun this round. A light start. Don’t lose hope, yet. I’ll let you know when you are truly hopeless.”

The changes in his moods are fascinating. Jack sounds mocking and mean, but the way he runs his hands all over Rhys is soothing. He massages his shoulders, and scraps his scalp lightly, and moves forward so slowly Rhys only feels pleasure. He calms down, and even moans when Jack bottoms out.

“You see, isn’t this better?” Jack asks, leaning down to kiss between Rhys’ shoulder blades.

The janitor’s brain short-circuits, and he yelps when at the same time Jack pulls back a few inches and slams back in. Handsome Jack surely likes to play with the victim’s sanity, because this is driving Rhys’ mind into a place he’s never visited before.

Jack starts slow and rough pace, pulling out to slam back in with force that sends Rhys’ body forward. He hits his prostate on every move, making it even more confusing for the young man, because his body is now clearly enjoying it, and his mind is running in circles, because it feels good, but there is pain, but Jack is making it enjoyable for him, but it’s a rape, but it feels good, _this shouldn’t feel good!_

Nothing changes for minutes. Jack keeps he pace, occasionally rubbing Rhys’ back or thighs, telling him to relax. He seems very patient for such a volatile man. And so caring for someone who tortures his partners to death.

The steady stimulation soon replaces every thought in the janitor’s head, and he moans with every thrust that sends sparkles of electricity through his body. Jack’s gentle teasing and praises are urging him forward, and when he really lets the feelings wash over him, he is ready to come, just a little more stimulation…

Jack notices the newfound tension in Rhys’ body, the squirming and the pitch in his voice. “You wanna come, baby?” he asks. “Wanna come on my dick, dirty slut?”

He doesn’t care about the insult right now, caught up in nice feelings. “Yes, Daddy, please!” he whimpers, and he is sure that if the situation was different, he would be screaming it.

“Can I make you come?” Jack asks, and of course it’s a trap, but what can Rhys do about it?

He nods frantically. “Yes, please, make me come, Daddy.”

Jack’s laugh is evil. He grips one of Rhys’ thighs and pushes his leg up on the table, getting a better angle. The movement makes the bruises and cuts on his ass sting, but in a pleasant way; Rhys still doesn’t see where the catch is. Jack starts thrusting straight into his sweet spot, making his eyes roll back into his head.

“Enjoying yourself, kitten?” Jack asks, his pace becoming almost brutal, encouraged by the young man’s moans.

Rhys keeps crying out in pain and pleasure, the good side of the mix, and he feels his cock bobbing, hitting the table on particularly hard thrusts. He is so hard, and Jack’s cock makes him feels so good, on edge, but he’s never came just from prostate stimulation. Not that he tried, but he is almost positive he can’t.

“Please, Daddy,” he sobs. “Please, I wanna come.”

“Then come, baby,” Jack laughs. “What’s stoppin’ ya?” He is grunting, probably close himself, and enjoying the squirming of the poor bound man.

“C-can I touch myself?” Rhys asks, though he doesn’t even hope.

“No way,” comes the answer. “If you wanna come, then you have to come just from daddy’s cock. I don’t like when my partners can’t do that, you see, cupcake.”

So, that’s the trap. Rhys whimpers pathetically, but he doesn’t bother to beg further. He isn’t sure it would be nice words coming out of his mouth, anyway. And the way Jack grips his thigh and almost gently presses down on his back, and the slick slide of his cock inside him, that all soon makes him unable to speak anyway.

“Come on, cupcake,” Jack urges him. “I know you want it. Just let it happen.” He is gentle again, no trace after the teasing and meanness, and it’s unfair and confusing when Rhys comes like on command.

It takes him by surprise, and it’s completely different that any of the orgasms he’d ever had. It comes suddenly and leaves slowly, leaving him in a mess on the table, completely at Jack’s mercy.

“Knew you would be a good slut,” Jack laughs. He grips both Rhys’ cheeks, relishing in his pained mewl, and starts chasing his own release without care. It’s a hint of what will come in the future when what truly drives him over the edge is Rhys’ pained scream when Jack digs his nails into his abused skin and drives his cock straight into his overstimulated prostate.

Jack spills his release into him, groaning and… chuckling when Rhys cries out again.

“Well, I’ve had some fun,” he says when he fully comes down, already pulling his pants back on, “what about you?”

Before Rhys can think about what answer will cause less pain, Jack is pulling at the leash around his neck, pulling him back and to the ground where he gracelessly falls into a tangle of his own limbs, unable to hold himself up.

He is sore. Of course, he is sore after such hard fuck. Rhys never learned to appreciate the “pleasant soreness”. He liked it a little rough in the moment, but not the aftermath. Also, his legs hurt from the strain, and his hands are shaking so much he wouldn’t be able to do anything.

“Aww, somebody kicked your puppy, pumpkin? Well, if you don’t want to get _yourself_ kicked, you’re gonna clean up the mess you made…”

Rhys follows Jack’s gaze to the puddle of come he left on the ground. He briefly closes his eyes, contemplating if it’s worth it. A kick to the head would probably knock him out, and kick to the stomach might too, because he is a wimp. But when Jack loses his patience and kicks him to the ribs, Rhys realises that yes, it’s still worth it to try and avoid pain, and so when he stops gasping for breath, he bends down and licks the floor clean.

It takes barely a minute. He is sure it’s not more than five minutes after they both came. But when he looks up, he sees Jack hard again, erection straining against his slacks.

“Surprised?” Jack asks with a raised eyebrow, palming himself. “A fan like you, I’d thought you would know what they say about me…”

 _You are sick_ , Rhys thinks, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he backs away from the monster, making himself as small as possible in the corner under the desk. But there is no escape, and he knows it.

“You want it like that? No problem to me,” Jack shrugs. He pulls Rhys closer by the tie, forcing him to settle between his legs as he sits on his chair and moves it closer. Pants unzipped, Jack doesn’t even bother to pull them down this time. He thrusts into Rhys’ unresisting mouth – how could the janitor dare to resist?

This is not Rhys’ first rodeo, and so he knows what to do. He relaxes his throat, only a little sore from yelling, begging and screaming, and lets Jack have his fun. When he is urged to move, he moves. When he is urged to suck, he sucks. Jack is large, so taking him all the way is not easy, but after a little gagging and choking, Rhys manages even that.

He practically moans in relief when Jack comes, and he swallows it, hoping that now he will be allowed to hide in the corner, have some peace, maybe even go home. He feels punished enough. He just wants to curl up and die.

But when he starts pulling away, Jack tugs at his hair hard; so hard Rhys feels some of his hair being pulled out. “Stay,” he growls. “You aren’t going anywhere, cupcake.”

He whimpers, fearing that Jack will grow hard again soon, and who knows what he could want to do next, because Rhys’ throat and ass are sore, and it wouldn’t be the first time Jack just created a new hole for his pleasure.

But as it turns out, Jack just wants a cockwarmer.

Rhys hears the gentle whirr of a computer being powered up. He shifts and adjusts his position, careful not to let Jack slip out of his mouth. This is fine. This is not going to get him killed. Right?

Jack occasionally reaches down to tug Rhys’ head closer when he thinks he is cheating, or when he grows half-hard in his mouth and wants Rhys to suck for a while, but he doesn’t fuck his throat again.

His legs, back and jaw begin to ache. He can roll his shoulders and shift his legs, but the ache in his jaw is punishing. It occasionally makes him tear up, other times try to move his jaw, which requires swallowing, which provokes Jack to use him for a while.

When he can’t hold in his painful whimpers for more than a few second anymore, Jack “takes pity on him”. He fucks his throat again, way more ruthlessly than before, leaving him almost mute and really hurting. And a little high from the lack of air.

“Now, I think I have the security fixed, but I’ll have to go and check some things personally. You will wait for me here nicely, right?” he pats Rhys’ head like he was a dog.

Too tired to watch his tongue, Rhys mumbles (rasps): “Do I have a choice?”

“No, you really don’t,” Jack laughs. He laughed, so he was amused, right? That could mean no punishment for speaking up, right?

Right – _no_.

“But to keep you entertained, and teach you a lesson in humility,” Rhys inevitably snorts, “I’ve got a little task for you.” He digs into one of his drawers, pulling out the item that was on the very bottom, by the sound of it. “Come here,” he tugs at Rhys’ leash.

They walk – Rhys on all four – to the carpeted area of the office, and Jack even throws a blanket on the floor for Rhys to sit on. Which is probably because of how dirty he is, and the rug is expensive, not that Jack cares about his comfort.

“This,” Jack presents him with the object he retrieved previously, “I wanna see inside you, _fully_ , when I come back.” It’s the biggest dildo Rhys has ever seen, porn included. It’s much bigger than Jack’s cock, probably bigger than Rhys wrist, the biggest part resembling a fist more than a cock. It’s supposed to be a knot, Rhys realises with a disgusted shudder.

“You can use lube, you can take your time, or just take it all at once, I don’t care. But it will be inside of you. You have about two hours before I’m back, but don’t count on that _. I might hurry up_ ,” he whispers like it was a secret. “Bonus points if you come all over your too-white belly… And remind me to mark your belly up, I don’t like the lack of bruises here.” With that, Jack leaves.

Rhys eyes the items he received. The dildo, a big bottle of lube, a soft blanket and a bottle of water. And two hours of time.

He drinks the water, coughing when it soothes his aching throat. Then he eyes the dildo. The logical conclusion is that there is no way it can fit inside of him. But Jack will probably just ram it into him if he doesn’t even try. Maybe he’d fit it in people before. ( _Maybe_ said people even _survived_.) Maybe it’s a test. But the conclusion is always that Rhys has to try.

Not yet, though. He can finally rest, for half an hour.

And so, Rhys lays down on the blanket, curling into a ball. He doesn’t try to escape, no. Jack has automatic turrets in his office, cameras, trapdoors, and probably very well locked door. Rhys doesn’t even try. He is on a mission to survive, not to resist.

* * *

He fell asleep. Rhys realises that he had a good bit of sleep by the way his muscles are relaxed and aching at the same time. His throat is dry again, and if that isn’t a hint that he fucked up again, the soft sound of Jack’s breathing above him is.

“Slept well, cupcake?” he asks with a scoff.

Rhys shots up way too quickly, and he almost falls back to the ground, but Jack catches him, a big hand wrapping around his throat.

“I’m so sorry!” he stammers. “I’m sorry, so sorry, sir, Daddy! I fell asleep!”

“Yeah, I kinda noticed that,” Jack scowls at him, tightening his hold.

Rhys wishes for Jack to strangle him now, but he looks too controlled, so it’s probably not happening. He starts shaking again, probably wasting all of the energy that he gained during his short sleep. “I’m s-sorry,” he continues apologising, though it’s getting hard to breath. “I was e-exhausted, this was too much. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disobey you.”

Jack gives him one sceptical look, and then condemns: “Boring. You are a good beggar, but your apologies need some improvement.” He throws Rhys on the floor, pressing his foot on the bruise on his chest to keep him down. “Now, as much as it would be fun to force you on that dildo in a few minutes, I don’t want to kill you just yet. So, we will leave this for later; you will get your chance. Now, I believe I have some marking to do.”

Under Jack’s anticipating look, Rhys speaks up reluctantly. “You wanted to mark my b-belly, Daddy,” he reminds.

“Mm-hm,” Jack nods. “Get up.”

Rhys follows Jack across the office. His bare foot-falls echo through the silence, meeting the soothing sound of water moving around. It’s fascinating how quiet and stealthy Jack is compared to him.

“So, I wanted to use my belt for this, and that would be it for now,” Jack says as he taps a random spot on a wall. “But surely you agree – your behaviour calls for a bigger punishment. For that, I’m gonna take you to my special room.”

The wall opens, revealing a… dungeon, for lack of a better word. Well-equipped dungeon for either sex or interrogation. Maybe both.

Everything looks clean, so at least Rhys won’t die of infection or catch something. But that’s hardly reassuring anymore next to Jack’s _I don’t want to kill you **yet**_.

“So, yeeeaaaahh,” Jack stretches as he looks around. “Hmm… There! Stand there,” he points towards an X-frame. “That’s a classic. Ever been tied to this beauty?” He sounds so delighted it makes the younger man’s stomach twist.

“No, I haven’t,” he answers. He takes a deep breath and lets himself be tied to the thing. Leather cuffs connected to the frame with short chains go on three of his limbs, but his cybernetic is tied with rope strong enough to keep it useless. Not that Rhys ever thought about using his hand for anything but hacking.

“Now, how you holdin’ up? Do you feel like fainting? That would be a shame…”

Jack’s caring is unnerving, and Rhys tries to take a step back, his eyes avoiding the fake concerned gaze of the CEO. Or maybe it’s real. He is a fucking sociopath!

“I-I think not,” he stammers. “Just…” he trails off. This is probably a trap too.

“Just what?” Jack insists, voice already stern. “Tell me, kid.”

“I-I’m t-t-thirsty,” Rhys says, feeling himself to slowly give in to panic. He fucked up. This will just prolong his punishment. There will be even more pain.

Jack leaves the room, coming back with a bottle of water. When he notices that Rhys is panicking hard, he smirks, but then he does something unpredictable. “Calm down, kiddo,” he says, coming closer to Rhys, who has nowhere to run anymore. “I asked you a question, and I wanted an answer. You did nothing wrong this time, so calm down.”

One off Jack’s hands covers Rhys’ eyes, denying him sight, and it has a wonderful effect. For a moment he is frightened, but then he calms so suddenly it feels unnatural. Like a magic spell. He takes a deep breath. He’s not dying yet. He can make this. This will end, one day. Hopefully soon.

“Likes of you are so simple,” Jack chuckles. “Just begging to submit.” He moves the hand to the back of Rhys’ head, forcing him to tilt it back. Bottle of water is pressed to his lips, and Rhys is forced to swallow quickly, the stream almost too fast. Exactly like Jack wants it to be. This little powerplay does weird things to his brain again.

When Jack deems Rhys had had enough, he tosses the bottle over his shoulder, letting the contents spill. He moves towards one of the many chests in the room and begins searching for something. It takes him long to find it, and he needs to go through several chests.

Rhys’ eyes widen when he sees the whip, and his eye activates subconsciously to tell him facts he really doesn’t want to know. _Length: 2 meters. Material: unknown exotic animal skin, presumably expensive. Usage: lethal weapon._

He quickly shuts the eye down, wishing he didn’t learn to read the information so quickly.

“Scared?” Jack laughs, cracking the whip testingly. “You should be. This can kill a badass psycho. A twig like you would break in half if hit full-force.”

A series of pleas escapes Rhys’ lips, and Jack listens to them with a grin. It’s so obvious he is enjoying himself. Finally, he drops the whip, and pulls out another one, smaller, less deadly-looking, more sane-BDSM-looking. “We will test the other one later, don’t worry,” he promises Rhys. “I wanna see if your stomach splits open when I hit you with it.”

Cracking the new whip, which doesn’t sound half as threatening as the bigger one, he stands in front of Rhys. “Now, I’m not sure I want you to scream during this. So, scream as hard as possible when I hit you, and I will decide, alright?”

Without waiting for an answer, the whip is swung back and forth, cutting into Rhys’ belly and leaving an angry red mark. Drops of blood form in several places. Rhys doesn’t have to be prompted to scream, and he wonders how could anyone do this willingly. Then his thoughts dissipate as Jack comes to gently smooth the wound with a calloused finger.

“So pretty…” Jack sighs. “What type of gag do you want to try out?” he asks. “I’m feeling generous.”

Rhys has no idea what type of gag is the most comfortable, and honestly, he forgot how to speak with each of Jack’s touches sending liquid fire through the wound – not a nice feeling. “Something to bite into,” he manages when Jack begins to look impatient. “Please, Daddy,” he adds quickly.

“Good,” Jack smiles and soon brings a simple gag with a rubber part that he pushes between Rhys’ teeth. “This will be better. Don’t scream, just squirm in that cute twinky way.”

He steps away again. The next few hits are actually more bearable. Jack doesn’t put so much force into them, and he doesn’t cut through skin. It still burns and leaves angry red marks, but it won’t scar.

Jack made a minute pause for Rhys to get his breathing under control. During that, he entertained himself with gently stroking his hair and kissing tears away from his face. Then it was back to torture.

Rhys’ legs gave out after the second round, and he hanged there limply, kind of unevenly because one of his arms was tied in a different way than the other. Jack gave him more time to calm down this time, but it wasn’t working, because the poor man was just in too much pain. He thought that he would pass out when the pain level crossed a certain threshold, but it just wasn’t happening, and he kept sobbing until Jack grew bored and just dealt the last series to a thrashing, screaming and panicking Rhys.

“Hey, you still alive!” he beams at him like Rhys just accomplished something, like a kid creating a necklace from pasta. “That’s good. You will get to rest after the last part,” he promises. He takes hold of the other whip. “But first…”

Rhys would like to thrash in the bonds once more, or beg through the gag, but he is absolutely mesmerised by the long leather whip. It’s like a snake looking him in the eyes. He knows that he is about to receive a deadly bite, but he just can’t bring himself to do something about it.

Jack takes the gag out, warning him not to bite his tongue off. He positions himself further than he was before and cracks the whip a few times. It’s like thunder.

“I’ll try not to kill you,” he says with a smirk. He moves his hand back and hits.

Rhys passes out almost immediately, distantly tasting coper in his mouth.

* * *

Breath in. Breath out.

Clean air fills his lungs, and Rhys’ mind clears a little.

He starts taking inventory of the various aches to his body. His stomach is on fire. His throat feels swollen. His legs and arms hurt. And his ass hurts more than it did before, and feels dirtier, too. Jack probably took him in his sleep.

He tries to move and is pleasantly surprised that he can. Even the leash is gone.

Rhys rolls on his side first, slowly. He looks around. The room he is in looks like a very small bedroom, almost completely filled by a bed, a closet and a nightstand. And a Loader Bot.

It’s watching him with its red eye, and Rhys feels uncomfortable. Are Loader Bots able to create recordings? Will the whole Helios see him?

“Ah, you are awake! What a delight!”

He didn’t see Jack come in, but that’s one of the least concerning things to him. Rhys backs away on the bed as fast as he can.

“Oh, no no,” Jack laughs as he pulls him back by his ankle, without visible effort. “I waited twelve hours for you to wake up. I won’t wait until you are in a mood or something. On all fours, chop-chop,” he orders, lightly slapping Rhys’ side.

He follows the order almost like a zombie. He doesn’t even think about it this time. Maybe this time resistance would finally get him killed. But he can’t even dare dream about it. He just needs to survive.

As Rhys gets into position, he notices that there is actually something in his butt. A plug, probably. Jack pulls it out deftly, managing to not hurt Rhys, which is funny, and Rhys would laugh if it didn’t make his stomach move.

He dares a quick glance down.

It’s… not bad. There is a red X from his first and last hit, both cuts marked by dried blood and scabbed. Jack didn’t slice him open, then. The rest of the cuts is still red, some purplish. But it hurts so much that he doesn’t even feel it. It’s a strange feeling, and he wonders if it’s the way human brain works or the sleep still in his muscles.

Jack thrusts in without preamble, only careful enough not to cause damage. Rhys manages not to yelp, and he takes it silently when Jack fucks him. But his unresponsiveness makes Jack grow bored.

Rhys is flipped on his back, his legs thrown over Jack’s shoulder. He is aiming for his prostate and keeps hitting it over and over until Rhys grows hard, willing or not. His cheeks warm up in shame.

“What’s that blush, sweetness? My little cockslut feeling bad? Should I do something to make you feel better?” he reaches to stroke Rhys’ cock with one hand.

Rhys doesn’t even know what’s happening, where did it come from, but he finds himself nodding and whispering. “Please, Daddy, make me come on your cock.” He doesn’t sound sincere, that’s for sure. He sounds broken. And Jack likes it.

The pace grows brutal again, Jack having to hook an arm around Rhys thighs, so he doesn’t push him away with the movements. The other hand keeps stroking him in a firm hold until Rhys comes, whimpering pathetically when hot cum hits his abused stomach. It doesn’t even feel good, the orgasm. It barely feels like anything.

Jack comes in his ass after fucking him for several more minutes, and then he spreads Rhys’ legs, watching his fluttering asshole and the come leaking out of it.

“Hmm, such a pity that I need to go now,” he hums. “But don’t worry, you won’t be empty.”

Rhys expects a plug to be shoved into him, but Jack has something more terrifying in mind. The big dildo and a bottle of lube.

“Same rules like last time,” he says as he tosses the items at Rhys, both hitting his head. “Two hours. If you don’t do it, I’ll tear both your arms off. If you manage to come, you get something good to eat. Have fun.”

Jack disappears, and Rhys vehemently keeps his eyes open until they start to burn. Good thing is, he doesn’t feel hungry. Bad thing is, he doesn’t want his arms torn off.

Slowly, he sits up. He notices door right in front of him and hopes it’s a bathroom. He decides to try it.

 _“Where are you going?”_ the Loader Bot asks, stepping in front of him. _“I was instructed to keep you in bed. Unless you need to use the bathroom, no body part of yours can reach outside of the bed.”_

Just great. “I need to use the bathroom,” he says. Pills, razor blades, chemicals. So many ways to end this, at the reach of his hand.

 _“I will accompany you,”_ the robot declares.

And it does just so. The robot squeezes through the small door frame and stands with Rhys in the small bathroom, watching him as he uses the toilet and takes a quick shower. He would like to thoroughly scrub the filth off him, but his ass and stomach burn at any contact. Although, something different than blood and come is flushed down the drain, and Rhys realises that Jack must have used some healing crème on him, because his ass and stomach are healing faster than they should.

“What else were your instructions?” he asks as he drinks water from the sink, eyes darting around, searching for anything deadly.

_“To keep you in bed. To keep you alive. To not hurt you too much while fulfilling the orders one and two.”_

Rhys sighs. He is being watched, then, and he won’t be allowed to kill himself easily. He returns to the bed, for a while testing the robot’s patience. How many times does it instruct him to stay in bed when he lets one of his limbs reach out before it actually enforces something?

It was five times. On the sixth, the robot didn’t warn him, instead gripping his ankle, raising him in the air and dropping him in the middle of the bed.

“Okay, I get it,” Rhys tells the Loader Bot that stays close for another minute, watching him. He rubs his ankle that will be sure to bruise badly, but it doesn’t feel broken. He rests for another couple minutes before he gets to work.

Rhys tries not to think when he coats his fingers in lube. That fails, and so he pretends that he is in some cheap reality show, creating a _Beginner’s Guide to Destroying Your Vital Organs._

_First, you use a lot of lube. There is never too much lube. Then, you start fingering yourself. It helps if you have been raped multiple time in the past few hours._

He gets to four fingers easily, soon pushing them in to the last knuckle. But his small fingers are nothing compared to the head of the huge dildo, and he spends five minutes just doing the same, achieving nothing except for occasionally hitting his prostate.

Rhys did everything in his power to relax, and he even managed to get his palm in. He tucked his thumb in and fisted himself for a while. It burned even with lube, and it wasn’t pleasurable in any way. But it didn’t hurt too much, and he didn’t want his arms torn off.

When he deemed that he can’t do much more for himself, Rhys lubed up the first few inches of the dildo, knelt up and started to lower himself on it. The head was almost easy, and the next four inches. Then it was like hitting a wall, and he couldn’t get it further.

Rhys sat like that for a while, huge dildo in his ass, a death-wish on his tongue. Would Jack let him to die from blood loss if he tore his arm off? Probably not.

He moved. Up and down again. He tried to relax even more, to grow accustomed to it or something. Or to force it. But his body just refused.

“Come on,” he whined, frowning at his left arm like it was all its fault. “I can do this,” he told himself. “I won’t die here.”

He laid on his back and tried to push the dildo in like that, keeping his knees pulled up and spread like a true slut. On a second thought, he changed his position, so the Loader Bot’s eye didn’t see his stretched hole.

Over time, Rhys managed to get another couple inches in, although every new millimetre of stretch felt like his colon was tearing. Not painfully, which was weird, but it was a completely new feeling of _notrightnotright!_

But then the swell came, or the _knot_. It was bigger than his fist, and Rhys wasn’t sure what would happen if he pushed it in. But he was pretty sure he knew what would happen if he didn’t even try, maybe tear himself a little.

Rhys applied more lube to the dildo and to his hole, and he pushed in two, three fingers alongside it. He sat up again, deciding that gravity is a good friend. He kept bobbing up and down on the dildo, occasionally teasing himself with the fingers, and then he pushed the knot in.

It slipped in in one go. Rhys gasped as the thing fit inside of him. The bottom of the dildo had fake balls that now rested against his ass, and the knot pushed relentlessly on his prostate. Rhys was still in shock from the awful and unnatural stretch when he realised that he is getting hard.

Coming means food, he remembered, and so he managed to produce the filthiest fantasy he ever jerked off to, something involving big badass alpha skags and alien sex, and he jerked off, coming over his stomach and hand.

“Whew, what a show, kid!” Jack spoke up, suddenly coming into the room, eyes still on his ECHO. “Gotta say, I almost admire your determination! _I won’t die here_ ,” he mocked. “Five fucking stars for performance, and a bonus star for _breaking my heart_.”

Rhys found that even after coming, he can’t really get his breathing under control, not with the monstrosity still inside him. But Jack doesn’t want him to calm down anyway.

The CEO fully strips for the first time and comes to sit behind the panting and trembling janitor. He uses one arm to keep him up, pushing him back against his chest, and the other he slowly runs down Rhys’ stomach. The thing becomes more and more visible the more he leans back, and Jack keeps pressing on where the bulge is the largest.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, voice lustful, not admiring. He keeps stretching Rhys and pressing at him until the younger man whimpers and whines in pain and discomfort. Then he lets him relax a little and starts teasing at his hole instead.

“If I didn’t want to fuck this tight hole of yours, I would have you keep this in forever. Filled, brainless – I know what this thing can do to your head, I saw it – you’d be beautiful. Finally useful. But I like your hole too much.”

He keeps playing with Rhys, his stretched rim and his cock, slowly filling again under all the stimulation. Occasionally, one of Jack’s hands brushes his nipples or tugs at them, pinches, and Rhys finds himself enjoying the treatment, and he doesn’t understand again. Is this Stockholm syndrome? Is this just lust? What is happening to him?

“Relax, baby. I’m being nice, and I don’t want you thinking,” Jack admonishes and pinches one of his nipples more forcefully.

Rhys lets out a mewl and relaxes further in Jack’s hold. He lets himself be manipulated, touched, played with, completely at ease. He would maybe even fall asleep still impaled on the cock if he wasn’t aroused.

Jack keeps whispering things, some filthy, some nice, like _good kitten_ , _doing so well_ , _so pretty_ , and it’s like the words validate his existence. He doesn’t want to hear anything else, ever. Jack is happy with him, proud of him. Jack owns his life now. And if he is happy with Rhys, Rhys is happy to exist.

“Make me come, Daddy,” he breaths out. “Please?”

Jack chuckles. “Not yet, pretty boy. But I will, don’t you worry.”

And that’s enough for Rhys, apparently. Suddenly, he is a little less desperate, more at ease with what’s being done to him. He pants, moans and whimpers as Jack plays with him, but that’s it. He is just surprised he hasn’t started drooling yet.

“Okay, baby, think we can level things up?” Jack asks, pushing Rhys into a straighter position. The twink nods, uncaring about what that means. “Great! Let’s get you moving!”

Jack helps Rhys push the knot out, helping mainly by slow tugging at the toy, pressing on his stomach and praising him for every bit of accomplishment. He gives Rhys a minute to breath, wipe away the sweat from his face, and then he starts guiding his hips up and down.

Rhys’ head is a little bit clearer without the constant stimulation of his prostate, but it’s still filled by pink fog. He lets himself be guided; the slide now so easy when he is relaxed like that. It also stimulates his prostate in a new way, and this time Rhys anticipates the strange form of orgasm he had earlier. He lets it wash over him, coming untouched and shuddering and moaning like after the best sex in his life.

Yep, he definitely likes this form of orgasms more. Maybe just because it’s new, maybe because it’s the only good thing among all the bad things he is going through right now, but he likes it, and he wants more.

“You look properly fucked out,” Jack comments. “Not surprised, honestly.” Then he is pulling the huge dildo out of Rhys and thrusting in, taking him as brutally as ever, spilling praise over how good Rhys still feels, how tight and warm, and then he is coming too.

Jack collapses on Rhys, trapping him facedown under his weight. “Fuck,” he groans. “That was something...” He rolls over, allowing Rhys to breath properly, and after giving him one long look, laughs and stands up.

“What takeout do you like?” Jack asks as he starts dressing up.

Rhys is not Rhys. He is a mush, no muscles, just a ball of _mmmmmm_... Still, he manages – probably on autopilot – to say the name of the noodle place he likes. He doesn’t mention what he lies, but Jack is already gone anyway. His last words are: “Sleep, kitten,” and so Rhys sleeps.

* * *

When Rhys wakes up, it’s to the smell of food, delicious food. He opens his eyes to see boxes all around him, and it hits him that Jack probably bought everything without batting an eye, because he is a megalomaniac, sociopathic CEO.

His stomach grumbles, and so Rhys wastes no more time thinking, and he digs into the food, searching for his favourite. It’s a little cold, but not completely yet, and his stomach is pleasantly full afterwards. He falls back asleep.

* * *

“Open up.”

Rhys opens his eyes first, and he sees a huge cock not far from his face. Instinctively, he pulls away, only to have his hair fisted and head pulled towards said cock. He sputters for a second, but then he relaxes and lets Jack fuck his mouth.

After Jack finishes and leaves, Rhys takes a shower, still followed around by that Loader Bot. He quickly searches the cabinets in the bathroom, but most of them are locked, and the last one only has toilet paper in it. The loader doesn’t comment on his behaviour, which Rhys is grateful for. He is not sure how would his excuse of searching for something to shave with work when he doesn’t grow much hair at all. He never grew facial hair, and he had the rest laser-removed.

He lounges on the bed for a while, eats more of the food, and finally falls asleep again, his body probably eating up a lot of energy for healing.

He is not sure how long it takes for Jack to come see him again – judged by past experiences, it could be either minutes or half a day – but the CEO is _furious_. It makes Rhys slide back on the bad again, but that only makes a devilish grin appear on Jack’s face.

“Oh no, kiddo. You are not escaping this.” He reaches for Rhys, easily wrestling him into obedience when he tries to struggle. Jack picks the weaker man up, tossing him over his shoulder. There is another door to the room, one Rhys ignored because he had an idea where it leads, and they go just there, into the dungeon.

Rhys is not sure if he is supposed to beg or keep quiet, and he settles on quietly whimpering as Jack ties him to... something. It’s a wooden frame with padding under his chest and stomach, then another under his legs and hands. He is bound in many places, probably more than he is supposed to be, and when Jack is done adding layers of rope, Rhys is completely immobile.

“Good work, Jack,” the CEO compliments himself after a series of tugging at the ropes assures him that Rhys can’t even wiggle. He comes to stand in front of the bound man, and Rhys can only stare at Jack’s crotch, because even his head is partly immobile thanks to a makeshift collar of rope.

“Now, Rhysie,” Jack speaks in a sweet voice, and ironically, that is the moment when Rhys realises that the nice, caring and gentle Jack that he had the pleasure with earlier is completely gone. Because that Jack was an illusion, and this is the real deal. And the real deal seems to have questions.

“Care to tell me what were you searching for in the bathroom?” he asks. He already knows the answer.

Still, Rhys lies. “Something to shave with.”

Jack bursts into fits of laughter. “Really now? You show me _one_ hair on your body, and I’ll make sure it won’t bother you ever again.” Just as suddenly, he is serious. “But there is no hair, right? You had it all removed in your vanity, huh? Spent your promotion bonus on laser removing of body hair.” He’d probably read the janitor’s personal file. “Tell me the truth before I lose patience.”

Rhys, as you might remember, was never a fan of suffering at Handsome Jack’s mercy. This might or might not explain why he said something else than truth the next time he opened his mouth. “And which will bring me less pain, _Daddy_? Truth, or disobedience?” He even tries to look up at Jack, but the rope collar tugs him down and tightens slightly.

He can _hear_ Jack’s grin, though. “Quite a good question, kitten. However, not a good time. I’m in no mood to play.” Lie. “Tell me the truth now. What were you looking for?”

“A way out,” Rhys admits, sagging with resignation. “Something sharp or lethal to kill myself before you manage to take me apart.”

He expects pain, but it doesn’t come yet. “Oh, cupcake...” Jack coos. “But I’ve already taken you apart. Now I’m just building something better. And to do so, I’ll need to teach you another lesson.”

He slaps his butt once and then starts prepping him with lube Rhys hadn’t even seen him get. “There is only so many bruises I can put on you before you die,” Jack talks as he stretches Rhys. “But there are so many ways to make you wish you were dead. You scared of pain? I will show you that there are worse things than a lil’ beating.”

He really doesn’t have to, though. Rhys is already afraid of anything Jack gives him. Pain or not, he knows it will one day be his end. And he hopes that day comes sooner than he goes completely crazy. How long has he even been here? Is it too soon to start losing one’s mind? Because he is.

Jack is systematic in his work, uncaring about Rhys’ pleasure, hitting his sweet spot randomly. When he is satisfied with his work, he fucks Rhys. Later Rhys would realise that this was what Jack calls mercy. Because what came after the relatively normal fucking was true torture.

Jack owned quite a lot of interesting toys. Among them, fucking machines.

An average sized dildo with those little bumps for extra pleasure was pushed into him, and Jack turned the machine on. Rhys quickly learned that it is adaptive. It started slow, giving him time to adjust. Time that he really didn’t need after what Jack put him through in the past days.

There was a little device put into Rhys’ ECHO port that was probably somehow connected to the machine. A quick scan told him that it only reads his vitals, but who knows with Jack.

Any time Rhys got near to orgasm, the machine would speed up. It even had a vibrating part, and sometimes it would just shove the dildo all the way in and massage his prostate.

He learned what his punishment is soon, but he couldn’t even beg Jack to please forgive him, because he was gagged, and then the CEO left him alone. Rhys now had a dick in his ass, and another in his mouth, attached to a gag that was a little tight, and the thing kept brushing his throat and making him cough and drool all around it.

The first orgasm was great. Rhys forced himself to relax, enjoy it, because he hoped it will be over after that.

No, of course it wouldn’t be over.

The machine never really stopped, just slowed down for a while. He was still very sensitive when it started vibrating on his sweet spot again, and the second orgasm was on the verge of painful, Rhys’ body like on fire.

Jack came in then, and Rhys still hoped that he would get a little mercy. But he only got a glass of water forced into him and then the gag was back. Jack completely ignored Rhys’ panic and muffled begging, didn’t even let it show how much he probably enjoyed it.

It went on for what felt like hours. Jack came in irregularly to make Rhys drink, move the ropes so the blood flow wasn’t restricted for too long in one part, and to occasionally jerk off, coming on Rhys’ face.

Everything hurt. His ass, of course, from the constant pounding, and his jaw from being forced open. But the rest of his body hurt just the same from straining in the bonds, trying to escape the sensations. Rhys kept telling himself that trying to escape is useless, that he is just wasting energy, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight the reflexes.

After too many dry, forced orgasms, he even managed to pass out for a while, but when he came to, the machine was still fucking him, and it wasn’t over, and he felt a huge part of the hopeful fire inside of him snuff out, because this won’t be over even when his body can’t anymore, not even when he manages to kill himself, probably. _It’s not over before Jack says so_ , and the maniac will find a way to torture Rhys even after his death.

Finally, the machine stopped inside of Rhys, the vibrations brought him to another agonising orgasm, and then Jack came in and shut the thing down. He didn’t bother giving the tortured man a speech about his lesson. Jack was quiet while Rhys deliriously begged and screamed any time his body was moved.

Jack fucked his abused hole, and it was like he was driving a knife into him, but it was over soon. Then he was carried to the bedroom again where he was allowed to sleep.

* * *

The door opened and Jack walked in. Rhys felt like only ten minutes passed since Jack last took him, and he panicked.

“No, please! N-no more, please, Daddy! I can’t!” he sobbed, fighting with himself not to pull away when Jack stopped right next to him, because that would only lead to more pain.

“Don’t worry, baby boy,” he chuckled. “Just relax, this will be quick.” He unzipped his pants and pulled out his already half-hard cock, immediately pushing past Rhys’ trembling lips. “Thaaaat’s it. Just take it,” he murmured, stroking brown locks from Rhys’ forehead and thrusting slowly.

His jaw ached, just like the rest of his body, but he supposed this is better than sex or something worse. He tried to muffle the sobbing, focused or keeping his throat relaxed. Jack liked making him gag and choke, but Rhys really didn’t want to pass out during a blow job, so he tried to make himself as open as possible.

The rhythm sped up gradually, and soon Jack was thrusting all the way in again and again, chasing his orgasm quickly. Rhys was choking, drool covering his face and a little of Jack’s slacks. When the force of Jack’s thrusts reached its peak and he pulled Rhys all the way down on his cock, spilling in his throat, Rhys was on the verge of passing out, but out of danger zone at last.

He coughed for a while when Jack pulled out, but then he accepted the darkness slowly overtaking his mind. Jack mumbled something about sleep, ruffling the younger man’s hair, and Rhys passed out.

* * *

Next time Rhys wakes up slowly, distantly noticing that his shoulder is being shaken. Everything feels different than it used to. It takes him a minute to open his eyes, realising that Jack is trying to wake him.

“Finally!” Jack exclaims. He slaps Rhys to keep him up, and then he moves his hand on his forehead, taking his temperature. He frowns at him. “Oh, you are dying already...” he assesses. “Eh, this will sound bad, but – have you considered not dying?” he asks with what could be a hopeful expression if he wasn’t a maniac.

 _I will try_ , Rhys wants to say sarcastically, but he can’t. His body feels weak, but not aching. He is thirsty and not at the same time. He isn’t hungry, although he is sure he didn’t eat anything in ages. Something in his brain screams at him to get up and do something about it, but the rest is just calm. Like he knows he can finally rest now. And if this is what dying feels like in Jack’s opinion, Rhys can accept that. Yeah, maybe he _is_ dying.

His senses are numbed, hearing like through water, sight blurry and every feeling comes with a delay. Rhys doesn’t pay attention to Jack anymore, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. He feels come in his ass, a lot of pain there too. And on his face. He realises that Jack must have taken him in his sleep a few times, and that means he managed to sleep through a lot of pain. Why is he being woken up now?

He tries to sit up, look at Jack, but his attempts at movement only lead to little twitches of his body that is exhausted and not at the same time

“Hey, stop this, champ,” Jack presses him down. “No need to hurt yourself further. I’m not kidding, you really look ready to die. And I don’t like that, you see. I’m not done yet.”

He gets up, leaving Rhys, who had completely exhausted himself, in the room alone. Not even the robot is there anymore. Rhys falls asleep abandoned in a small dark room, and he hopes with all of the soul left in him to never wake up again.

* * *

But he does. It’s probably not much later. Jack is standing to his right, leaning on the bathroom door, arms crossed and face his _mean CEO_ mask.

The second thing Rhys notices is the Loader Bot again. Then, an old man in a white coat, smearing some gel on his naked stomach with a… stick.

“I s-see,” the man stammers, visibly nervous under the CEO’s gaze. “As you have predicted, there is internal bleeding. Malnutrition and heavy dehydration aren’t helping, too. I would advise—”

“Just patch him up, no matter the expenses,” Jack interrupts him, sounding bored. “You know how rich I am. Come to me when you are done, and— Oh, hello, pumpkin,” he smiles deviously at Rhys when he meets his eyes. “Glad you joined the party. See this nice doctor over here? If you so much as speak a word to him, I’ll airlock him after he is finished. So, don’t do that, thanks.”

Rhys couldn’t even attempt to talk to the doctor, because following Jack with his gaze cost him all of his energy.

* * *

“Wakeeee uuuup alreadyyyyy.” Jack is groaning and puffing like a spoiled brat. Rhys follows the voice reluctantly, letting himself be pulled towards consciousness. “Finally!”

As soon as he opens his eyes, Jack is by his side, taking his left hand in his. It’s not a gentle gesture, though, because in the next instant, he removes the IV leading into Rhys’ forearm, and then he is flipping him on the side.

“Won’t fuck you yet, but I’m tired of jerking off to the nice adult movies you created for me,” he says as he lubes himself up, presses Rhys’ thighs together and starts fucking the gap.

All the while, Rhys stares at the wall in front of him. Did he die? No, this is not hell; this is worse. He needs to escape. But he feels boneless, empty, completely broken. There is no escape. Right now, Rhys is sure there is no universe beside this room. Nothing else exists, just Jack, his endless sexdrive and abuse.

The CEO collects his release in his hand and has Rhys lick it, which the young man does. And then he is left alone.

It’s like his body acts on a primal instinct, one he’d never encountered before. He sits up, enjoying having enough energy to do so. He has a lot of energy, come to think about it. Maybe he would be strong enough to fight…

Rhys laughs like a madman for a good minute. _Naaaaaah_.

He starts tearing the sheets, creating a makeshift rope quickly. It’s not hard to create a loop, tie the thing on the top of a bedpost, loop it around his neck…

 _“Stop,”_ the Loader Bot says, coming to stop Rhys.

He does it anyway. He knows it’s not high enough to break his spine or really damage his neck. He knows the Loader Bot will come and “save” him before he even starts choking. Still, he does it. Because this is his life now.

Rhys is picked up by a metal hand that is surprisingly gentle this time, not breaking bones, and the rope is torn, only the loose loop remaining on his neck before it falls off too. He is placed on the bed, and he laughs again. He rolls on his side, quickly carving two small lines into the nearest bedpost. Two times close to death. How many before he succeeds?

He is yanked back by his hair, his eyes meeting furious eyes of his abuser.

Rhys keeps laughing while Jack spanks him until he can’t force a laugh over the screams, and he keeps quiet while Jack preps him, and he comes on command when he is raped. It’s kind of like a dream.

* * *

Rhys learns to count days by the food brought to him, and so he knows that three days later there are twelve lines on the bedpost. He is now kept tied up when Jack is not with him, but he managed to almost kill himself twice on a trip to the bathroom – by falling – and he also counts the moments when Jack got so angry he started strangling him. He stopped in time, but both times Rhys passed out.

Rhys is not suffering. If you asked him if he is, he wouldn’t be able to say yes to such question. He gets beaten, whipped, raped, he gets objects forced into him that are not supposed to go there, he even learns what waterboarding is one night when Jack apparently couldn’t sleep and needed to think while torturing Rhys. But any time there isn’t acute pain, Rhys is numb and empty.

There is only one driving thought in him, and that is that he needs to die. Maybe he forgot the reason. But he still knows this.

When he is alone, Rhys learns that he doesn’t exist. His head is empty, nothing is happening to him, he is not seen, nor heard. He doesn’t exist. And when he exists – when Jack walks into his room and has his way with him – he tries to cancel his own existence.

Three days, twelve lines. How many more? Maybe now?

He learned to recognise the tiny little sound the hidden door makes when Jack taps in the code on the other side. Then there is a click of a lock and a hiss as the door slides open.

Jack walks in smiling, but the expression turns sour when he remembers that he has to untie Rhys if he wants to have fun with him. He puts his hands on his hips, thoughtful frown on his masked face.

“No, this won’t do,” he hums as he checks the skin of Rhys’ left wrist. It’s rubbed raw again, but the young man eventually gave up on trying to free himself this way.

Rhys is untied and led to the office. It’s not the first time Jack is taking him out. He was fucked there a few times, or worked like a cock warmer. One time Jack had him tied in a frogtie, a vibrator in his ass and gag in his mouth. He claimed that Rhys’ pitiful whimpering helps him work. Rhys managed to move in such way that it was suddenly hard to breath, and Jack spanked him with a leather belt when he cut the ropes loose. Come to think about it, that happened about four hours ago, and Rhys is still sore…

He stops when Jack opens the door out of his office, walking out. Jack calls him over, threatening him with a punishment, but Rhys remains hesitant. He is not sure if there is universe outside of the office too. It feels too surreal, too distant, too strange, and when he finally steps over the threshold, he feels like suffocating.

Suddenly, Jack is beside him, taking his hand and pulling him forward. Not harshly. “Come on, kitten. It’s just a few steps, and then you are in a dark den again.”

Indeed, in no time Rhys is pulled through the open space of a luxurious penthouse into a bedroom. He is made to sit on the bed while Jack searches for something in one of his wardrobes. Quick search of Rhys’ surroundings doesn’t yield anything deadly, but he is sure there will be something in the nightstands.

“Hah! Here it is!” Jack exclaims, childishly delighted, _excited_. He returns to Rhys with a small wooden box and unceremoniously flips it open the wrong way, letting the contents fall into Rhys’ lap.

It’s a collar, custom made with Jack’s initials and a lock decorated with a Vault symbol. The key is a small device shaped like a key, so the lock will probably be special.

Jack fastens the collar on Rhys’ neck, running a soothing hand on his face once, admiring his work. “Fits you,” he decides. “But I’ll have a new one made for you anyway. My special boy deserves better, huh?” he chuckles, looking at Rhys expectantly, like he was to be flattered by his comment.

Rhys hesitantly runs a finger over the strip of leather. It’s about inch wide and strong enough that even his cybernetic arm probably won’t be able to break it. Maybe he can strangle himself with it?

“I gave you a gift, pumpkin,” Jack reminds him with a sigh. “Say thanks.”

Rhys remains quiet. Obedience hasn’t been his thing in the past few days, and it’s not gonna change.

Jack sighs again. “Fine, your way.” He swings his hand and slaps Rhys hard. “We really need to get some manners in you, kitten. But that can wait.”

Jack smooths his fingers on the collar again, and then he begins pacing the room. “So, about that collar. I haven’t had a plaything in years, just quickies. You really are special, Rhysie. And now you are mine. Till the rest of our lives, probably. I mean, the last one died of allergic reaction, which was unfortunate and unpredictable, but otherwise, there is no way out. Mine forever.”

The words cut through the younger man’s numbness, and he starts shaking his head. “N-n-no, you— you can’t do that!” he stutters. “Y-you can’t! You _have to_ kill me! You have your fun with me, and then you kill me. You can’t— I can’t be—”

“Having a little existential crisis there, sweet pea?” Jack chuckles, uncharacteristically patient. “You know I can pretty much everything. And if I want you to be mine, you are mine.”

“N-no, that can’t— No… Why am I still alive?” Rhys asks, even looking up to look at the man of his nightmares.

Jack smiles, and Rhys writes it off as a hallucination, because it is what a sincere, nice smile looks like, and it doesn’t belong on Handsome Jack’s face. The CEO comes close to him, gently cupping his face. “Because you are special to me, cupcake,” he says, voice so soft. “Because… I love you.”

“No,” Rhys says, his whole body shaking. “No.”

“I do,” Jack insists patiently. He kisses the younger man’s forehead and pets his head. He hugs him and lets Rhys cry, tears soaking into the older’s work clothes.

It’s so confusing, and maybe he would be able to recognise it for the weak manipulation attempt it is few days ago, but not now. He doesn’t remember how the world works, how feelings and people work. He knows that Jack is the gentlest with him in strange situations, like when Rhys fucked himself with that huge dildo, or when Jack was pouring water on his face and talking about work. Does this mean love? It could.

“It’s alright, baby,” Jack soothes him. “I know you are confused. Don’t think about it too much. You should rest now; lie down.” He helps Rhys lie on the bed and ties his arms to the headboard with silk ropes that he keeps in the bed nightstand. “I’ll go to work now, okay? But then we can watch a movie together, what’cha think?”

Rhys shakes his head again. This is not right. “B-but… You were supposed to rape me now… You can’t leave without hurting me, that’s not how it—!”

“Shh,” Jack gently stops him with a finger on his lips. “Why would I do that? You are very distraught, you need rest, pumpkin. I can’t make love to you now.”

 _But that’s not how it works_ , Rhys wants to say, but he is sobbing too hard. _You rape me and hurt me; you don’t care_ , he wants to remind Jack, because maybe than he will stop saying those things that do things to Rhys’ brain.

He can feel himself breaking more and more with each gentle stroke of Jack’s hand, and when the CEO finally leaves, repeating his _I love you_ one last time, Rhys is not janitor anymore. He is Handsome Jack’s lover.

Maybe he has always been.

* * *

Rhys is woken up from his uneasy sleep by wet sensation on his rear. He distantly realises that Jack is prepping him, and he almost wants to sigh in relief. This is how it’s supposed to be. He relaxes and lets things happen.

Jack pushes in slowly, giving Rhys time and urging him to relax further much like the first day. That memory feels like years ago, and Rhys doesn’t want it in his head, because it confuses him. He remembers knowing that he will die soon, but now he knows that he won’t ever die, because Jack thinks he loves him, and it’s—

Rhys whines in discomfort, and Jack stops his movements. “Shh, it’s alright,” he rubs the younger’s back. “I’m here. Don’t worry.”

He continues to be gentle and fucks Rhys slowly, focusing on his pleasure. He even strokes his cock occasionally, until Rhys comes with a confused, distressed cry. Jack then speeds up his pace, becoming his usual rough self and pining Rhys to the bed while he fucks him like a cocksleeve and nothing else.

The kiss is different, though. Jack kisses the shuddering man after he finishes, slowly like a lover, and Rhys tries to pull away from the gentle gesture, only to be forced into obedience by a hand on his throat.

They both are panting when Jack pulls back, and he unties Rhys. He pulls him to his feet and leads him to bathroom.

Jack’s bathroom is as luxurious as everything else in the house, but Rhys only cares about the strange situation that ensues. They both walk into Jack’s huge shower and they wash themselves individually. There is enough room, so Rhys doesn’t even touch Jack as he moves around. He expected Jack to force himself on him again, but the older man just washed himself and pointed out where shampoo, conditioner and soap are.

Rhys broke down again when instead of a soft towel he was used to, Jack handed him a fluffy bathrobe. Jack helps him tie the knot when Rhys’ shaky hands can’t and then he dabs away tears from his face with a wet washcloth.

Rhys, still too confused to think about anything but Jack’s strange behaviour, is lead to the living room and sat in an armchair. Jack put a soft pillow under him, so his constantly abused ass doesn’t hurt.

“Stay,” Jack orders him and goes to the kitchen.

Rhys sits with his knees pulled up to his chest, chin resting on them, and he lets time flow around him. When Jack shakes his shoulder, telling him to move and sit next to him, there are many plates and bowls with food on the conference table in front of the sofa.

They sit next to each other, and Rhys eats, unwilling to test his luck with refusing, because it never led to anything he would want to do again. And he was always forced to eat in the end. So, he filled his plate with bread and cheese pieces, and cherry tomatoes, grapes, radish… Where did Jack get all the food from?

There is a movie, but Rhys doesn’t watch. He focuses on slowly eating and reminding himself of facts. But his thoughts are too fuzzy and mixed up.

_Jack is bad. I need to escape. I need to die. I will survive this. Jack cares about me. I’m a sex slave. I’m his. I don’t like it. Jack brings pain. Jack brings pleasure sometimes. I like it when he is gentle. Jack is right. I like my life. I need to die._

It feels like some of the thoughts aren’t his. But they are in his head, and Jack couldn’t’ve put thoughts in his head. So, they are his. Or maybe they come from a different Rhys, but then which one is the right one? How can he tell what is right?

“Did you like the movie, pumpkin?” Jack asks him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Rhys nods mindlessly, overanalysing the way this gesture made goosebumps appear on his body. Is this right?

“You didn’t watch it at all,” Jack blames. “Are you trying to lie to me?”

Sensing danger, Rhys tries to pay more attention to what is happening. Hour must’ve passed without him noticing. “I…” he begins, but he has nothing to say.

“You lied…”

Gulp. “I lied. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Jack sighs and stands up, pulling Rhys with himself with a strong grip on his upper arm. They walk into a room opposite to the bedroom. It’s another dungeon, bigger and even more well-equipped.

“Strip,” he orders. “You know why I am punishing you now, right?” Jack asks as he fastens leather cuffs on Rhys’ wrists and ankles.

Some Rhys from the past peeks through the fog in his head, and he says: “Because you are a maniac who likes pain.” He cringes briefly at the sentence. He doesn’t understand why he said it. It’s not what he thinks. Or is it? Doesn’t matter, because in the next second, Jack punches his gut, sending Rhys to the floor gasping.

“Try again, pumpkin,” he says, not paying attention to him as he prepares something in the room.

“Because I tried to lie to you, and that’s bad,” he says. But he doesn’t really believe these words either. He doesn’t know where he stands in this situation.

Jack makes him raise his arms above his head after clasping the cuffs together and connecting them to a steel rope. Soon, there is a whirr and tug, and Rhys is being suspended from the ceiling by his wrists. Other ropes connected to the floor are clasped to his ankles, making him spread his legs a little.

Jack is standing behind him, smoothing the pale skin of Rhys’ back. He never hurt him there, if you don’t count rug burn, so it’s still nice and white.

“Now, this is how it will go,” Jack says, the sound of a whip cracking making the younger man tug at his bonds. “You don’t need to do anything, just hang here. I will help you understand exactly why lying to me is bad. I do this because I care about you, and you need to learn that.”

Rhys manages not to scream with first five hits. He even giggles after the first one. _This_ is _right_. Jack is hurting him, and this is how it’s _meant_ to be. And so, Rhys relishes in the pain that comes.

It gets hard to think like that when the pain becomes too much. Some begging escapes his mouth, but Rhys knows that it’s useless, and so he decides to just scream wordlessly instead.

He’d seen a movie, once, in the past, where the main character received a whipping. Ten hits, and the hero almost died. In a different movie, in different time, there was another character being whipped. One hundred hits, and only then did they pass out. Obviously, nobody knows how much is actually too much, and they just pick a number and add what they think is an adequate amount of fake blood to the scene.

The whipping goes on forever. Jack’s arm never grows tired, and Rhys doesn’t pass out. It’s like a low quality movie, because Rhys is sure this is impossible. Surreal; when he watches tiny red splotches bloom under him, leaving his mark on the otherwise pristine clean room. The blood dribbles down his legs and some spatters when the whip lands on split skin.

Rhys understands his untrue answers now, the feeling that neither belonged to him. He didn’t understand where is his place in this situation, and thanks god that he has Jack, thanks god for the beating, because now he knows. Rhys actually sighs with relief and laughs when he realises that Jack did it – he showed him the truth.

His throat is too raw to make any difference between screaming and laughing, but somehow, Jack notices the change. He walks around the hanging body, coming into view and revealing the tiny splatters of blood on his face. Rhys had left his mark even on him, on Handsome Jack!

He helps Rhys drink a bit of water, and then he cups his cheek. “How are you feeling, pumpkin?”

“Good,” Rhys rasps and tries for a smile. His whole body is shuddering with waves of pain, but— “’tis feels right.”

“Does it?” Jack grins. “Good. I think you learned something today.”

Rhys nods, even though it was no question. “You are the universe,” he says, wanting to show Jack that he understands. “You are the world. And time. And love. And people.”

Jack raises an eyebrow at him and laughs. “If you say so…” He frees Rhys’ ankles first. Then he starts lowering him, instructing him to bend his knees when his legs meet the floor.

Rhys ends up curled on himself on the ground, gasping for breath over pain so strong his brain doesn’t even comprehend it. Jack carries him to the bathroom again where he pours disinfectant on the wounds, praising Rhys for being strong and not screaming too much when it stings.

He hums at the praise. He is being strong for Jack, because he knows the best part comes now. Jack is the gentlest with him when Rhys is suffering the most, and this is now. Something nice will come now.

Something else is applied to the wounds, and all the pain dissipates, leaving only dull throbbing. Rhys is forced to walk the short distance to the bed, supported by Jack.

He lies down and weakly attempts to raise his ass in the air. Jack chuckles and helps him by putting a pillow under Rhys. He says something about being too tired for work tomorrow, but then fucks him three times anyway. He denies Rhys release until the last round, kissing away the tears from his face when he assures him that it’s good, it’s a reward, and it will feel good if Rhys is a good boy for him. And so, Rhys is a good boy, and it feels good when Jack finally takes the cock ring off him and allows him to come.

“Sleep now, kitten,” Jack says, wiping away more tears from his face. And Rhys obeys, as always, because obeying Jack is the rightest thing in the universe.

* * *

***HJ***

Back when Jack wasn’t the CEO, he had much more time for his playthings. He kept many at a time, sweet little young things desperate for him. Sure, sooner or later all of them died or he grew bored of them. When he got to power, he stopped feeling the need to control and hurt someone. He had enough of that at work.

But Rhysie… That was a different story.

Jack forgot how good it feels to have someone for more than a few days. Mainly, the ability to fuck with their mind. To manipulate them and control them in a completely new way.

He chuckled as he watched Rhys mindlessly hug a pillow. The cutie might not have realised what he was doing, but Jack knew exactly. He wanted contact, gentleness, and he wanted it from Jack. Rhys got fucked roughly in the morning and then Jack forced a too big plug into him. Now, hours later, Rhys was in pain, and he learned that moments like this are when Jack brings comfort. When Jack gets to the penthouse in half an hour, Rhys will do anything to please for as much as a pat on the head.

It took them only a month for Rhys to stop trying to kill himself. Jack recognised the behaviour in his toy; too many in the past gave up on him before he learned this trick. _You are the universe_ , Rhys told him. He was probably right. Jack shaped his life. He suspected it was a matter of days before Rhys begins to think that he loves Jack too. He’d already repeated the words to Jack a few times, when he was in great pain or high in afterglow.

What Jack liked about the current situation was that Rhys became unhappy if Jack didn’t hurt him in a long time. He said that it’s not right. And who was Jack to make his little twink uncomfortable? Of course, he always fixed this situation.

Jack leaned back in the chair and stretched. Plans were already forming in his head for the evening.

* * *

***HJ***

“How was your day, baby?” Jack coos as he leads Rhys into the kitchen.

“Cold,” the slave whines as his bare feet meet the tiles.

“Poor baby,” Jack laughs. He lets Rhys sit on a barstool while he cooks. He keeps an eye on him, because Rhys had some weak moments when he tried to stab Jack or himself, but the sub looks more concerned with drinking the warm tea Jack made for him, clutching the mug with his organic hand.

The penthouse isn’t very warm, that’s true. Jack should come up with something, because he certainly doesn’t want to give Rhys clothes, but it’s true that lately the young man spends most of his free time saving warmth.

They eat pasta in silence, and when the dishes are washed, Jack suddenly pushes Rhys on the bar, pressing him down by his hair. The twink whimpers but doesn’t resist the treatment.

Jack pushes three fingers in Rhys’ hole without meeting any resistance. He removed the huge plug from him right before heading into the kitchen, and he is still pretty loose, but a little more rested this time. Perfect.

“Go take a warm bath, pumpkin,” he slaps his butt and lets him go.

* * *

Rhys hates baths. Maybe it’s the number of times Jack dumped his head underwater, or the long waterboarding sessions, or the floating feeling, but it just feels wrong. Rhys is nervous in the large tub, surrounded by nice smelling bubbles, until finally Jack comes and joins him.

Their shared baths are… something different. The first thing Jack does is dipping Rhys’ head underwater until the bubbles stop coming. And when Rhys stops coughing and gasping for breath, he kisses him and ruffles his hair.

“Show daddy’s cock some love, baby boy,” he pulls Rhys’ head down again.

Rhys is confused for only a second, but it earns him a sharp pinch to one nipple. Then he takes a deep breath and sinks underwater to wrap his lips around Jack’s cock. He tastes soap more than anything, and it makes him cough out a part of the air.

For a few minutes, Rhys is allowed to keep his own pace, coming up for air and taking Jack as far as he can before gagging at the taste of soap. When Jack nears orgasm, he generously tells Rhys to take a _deep_ breath, and as he plunges himself all the way in and spills his release into his throat. He holds him down there longer than necessary.

Rhys is lightheaded and limp when Jack lets him breathe again, and the older man cuddles him for a few minutes. Then he makes him sit between his legs and massages his shoulders.

Rhys tries to escape the treatment, but he gets his head dunked underwater every time he squirms. He doesn’t like it, Jack’s hands making him relax. He hasn’t been relaxed in weeks. There is always this edge, something setting his nerves off. Being fully relaxed is not an option in the penthouse.

Still, after twenty minutes of the treatment, Rhys doesn’t really have a choice. He is leaning against Jack, letting him play with him. When Jack deems him ready, they get out of the tub, dry themselves and head to the living room.

The conference table is made of glass, and so Rhys is a little sceptical when Jack wants him on it on his forearms and knees, but he obeys. Jack sits in the armchair and pours lube on his ass, letting it seep into his loose hole.

“You might want to be careful with your cybernetic arm, pumpkin,” he warns as he starts fingering Rhys with three fingers. “But feel free to use the other one to grip something.”

Jack adds a fourth finger, making Rhys whimper because it was too soon. He gets a warning slap, and so he breaths through the burning and stretch, ignoring the need to try and escape it.

Jack’s fingers are big, his whole hand much bigger than the younger man’s. When he tries to push his thumb in too, and Rhys realises what’s ahead of him, he whimpers. “Your hand is big, Daddy…”

Jack just laughs and slaps him again. “You like big things, so stop whining. My fist goes into you.”

Rhys arches his back when Jack manages to push all five fingers in to the last knuckle. The scars on his back tickle and itch with the movement, and he feels tears at the corners of his eyes. Jack is, fortunately, patient and sane this time, so he doesn’t keep pushing when Rhys’ body stops him.

It’s only another couple of minutes of stretching before Jack manages to push his hand in and curl it into a fist. The movement is a little sudden, and Rhys sobs and shudders, his tears creating a small puddle on the table.

“Beautiful,” the CEO praises. “Always wanted to see you there. On my fist and desperate…” He flexes his fist, making Rhys arch again.

The good thing about this is that it can’t last long. Jack plays with him for only a few minutes. Then he makes him come, pulls the hand out, and throws Rhys off the table.

Rhys gets a little disoriented when he feels a dick shoved into him and then another. Then he realises that Jack is fucking him alongside a dildo, and he relaxes. Jack comes soon, and then both cocks are replaced by the big plug again.

“Look at the mess you made on the table,” Jack tsks, and pulls Rhys towards the piece of furniture. The slave licks the surface obediently, removing both his come and tears, leaving saliva stains instead. Meanwhile, Jack gets hard again, and fucks his ass once more. Then Rhys is allowed to go to bed.

* * *

Jack never fulfilled his promise of getting Rhys a new collar, but honestly, the young man forgot about it. He had quite a lot to comprehend back in the days, and this information slipped his mind. Until now.

“Hey, Rhysie,” Jack gently kisses him awake. “Time for your big day.”

Something was mentioned the day before, but Rhys was too busy begging for release after being edged for what felt like hours. “What day is it, Daddy?” he asks with a yawn. Jack seems in a talkative mood (not that his mood couldn’t shift in an instant), so a question might be okay.

“Saturday, dumdum,” Jack ruffles his hair that became long and curly after not being cut in a long time. Soon, Rhys will be able to have a ponytail if Jack doesn’t cut his hair. “I have a little something for you. But you will need to eat all of your breakfast first.”

After eating grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon, some scrambled eggs and cut up vegetable, Rhys is instructed to drink a lot. He gets some vitamin pills to add to his water, and he watches them dissipate with childish fascination while Jack prepares something in the dungeon.

Before noon, Rhys gets tied to the X-frame facing away from the room. Jack uses more ropes than usually, completely immobilising the slave. He gags him, giving him something to bite into, so he doesn’t hurt his tongue like he did many times.

When he is satisfied with his ropework, Jack presses himself behind Rhys. He is fully erect in his slacks, and he thrusts into the milky white ass a few times, but sex doesn’t seem to be on his mind at the moment. “You know I love you, right?” he murmurs, kissing Rhys’ shoulder and petting him.

Unable to speak, Rhys just nods.

“And you love me too?” Jack asks, his hand gently teasing a nipple now.

Rhys nods again. He told Jack countless times, and it’s true. He loves him. There is nothing else in his universe that he loves more than the CEO.

“Hmm, that’s good,” Jack hums, teasing Rhys some more until he is aroused and erect. “You like being mine, right? You are daddy’s little toy?”

Rhys nods, humming. He mewls a little when Jack’s warmth disappears, but he knows that it will come back when they are done with this. He hears metal clanking and something being turned on or off, and he notices that the air is a little different in the dungeon today. There is a smell he can’t place.

Jack comes into the sub’s view, showing him his gift. All of sudden, the sleepy, lazy haze disappears form Rhys, and he tries to thrash in the bonds, but they don’t give, not even an inch.

“Shh, shh,” Jack soothes. “It’s alright. It won’t take long, don’t worry.” He disappears, and the vault symbol-shaped branding iron with him.

Rhys whimpers. He feels tears welling up in his eyes, but he can’t do anything but take it. When Jack touches his lower back with his free hand, Rhys yelps, almost screams, already expecting pain. But the touch is soothing, and it’s wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

“Take a deep breath, Rhysie,” Jack instructs him. “Another… Again… I don’t want you to pass out.”

Rhys breaths through the panic, just as Jack wants him to. It doesn’t even feel like betrayal when Jack suddenly presses the iron into his skin without warning him, because that’s how it always goes.

It takes a few moments for the pain to register. Then, Rhys screams. He screams long and with all his might tugs at the ropes. He doesn’t pass out, no; he is a good boy. But he wishes he wasn’t right now.

He knows it’s barely seconds before the iron is removed from his skin. It takes only a moment for the mark to be permanent, and Jack wouldn’t want to seriously hurt his favourite pet.

“You did good, you did so good,” he whispers, almost frantically tearing his pants down, and if that doesn’t make Rhys feel special, because Handsome Jack, the CEO of Hyperion, is horny like a teenager because of him.

It only takes him a few strokes and he is shooting his release on Rhys’ ass, far enough from the new wound on his lower back. He breathes hard, kisses the trembling and still crying and screaming man’s neck and shoulders. “So good, kitten,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Rhys wonders why does Jack wait with applying the healing salve that numbs the pain after Rhys is in bed, sweat washed with a damp cloth. He could do it before dragging him through the house, couldn’t he? But how could Rhys know; he is just a pet.

“I’m the best pet,” he murmurs with a crooked smile while the pain in his back dissipates.

“You are,” Jack laughs behind him. “Now, do you want me to fuck your mouth, or ass?”

* * *

“Drink, Rhys,” Jack growls, pressing the edge of the glass to his lips sharply. The young man had nowhere to move his head anymore, and so he just pressed his lips shut tighter and shook his head as much as Jack’s grip on his jaw allowed. “Do you want to make this punishment worse?!” Jack gripped his jaw so hard Rhys opened his mouth to yelp. Water was immediately poured into his mouth, but he spat it out.

“Damn!” Jack slapped him, and then brushed his spit from his eyes.

With his mouth free again, Rhys got back to begging, never really stopping except for the moments when Jack forced more water into him. “Please, Daddy, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Please, don’t do this, _please_ …”

Jack glares. “You are only making this worse, pumpkin. Now, drink.” He pressed the glass to his lips again, tugged Rhys head back by his hair, and the slave finally obeyed, drinking the rest of the glass. A lot of the liquid escaped his mouth, but he was already completely drenched anyway.

“Daddy, please, I can’t,” he sobbed. “I need to go…”

Jack only smirked and left the room. Rhys knew that the CEO would return in ten minutes, and if he didn’t let go by then, he would be forced to drink another small glass of water.

He sobbed and continued begging even though he knew he can’t be heard. The pressure in his abdomen was downright painful by now, and he needed to go so much. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to hold it for much longer.

Uselessly, he wiggled on the chair, but he only managed to shift the knotted dildo in him to press against his bladder briefly, making him mewl in pain. There was no escape from this chair. Even if he managed to get up from the big dildo (not the largest, but definitely big, and with the knot part), his wrists and ankles were still bound.

He deserved this. His Daddy was right; he deserved this punishment. Rhys collapsed from dehydration three days ago when Jack ordered him to fuck himself on a dildo until the CEO comes home from work. He had a big bottle of water in his reach, but he didn’t drink any of it, because he was too caught up in his ordeal. He was thinking about Jack and forgot to drink. Who could blame him?

But he put himself in danger, and that calls for punishment. Jack was nice enough to give his body time to revitalize before his punishment, but now he was there, and he had to—

Rhys cried out as the last thought caused him to lose concentration, and warm liquid started running down his thighs and legs. He let it all out and waited.

He was still sobbing when Jack came in with another glass of water. Rhys didn’t care anymore. He didn’t remember feeling so humiliated in a long time. Now he would surely be too disgusting for Jack to touch him, and the older man would abandon him, leave him in some cold dark room…

“Look at the mess you made,” Jack tsked. He made disgusted noises while he untied Rhys, and the slave sobbed and apologised over and over until he was told to shut up. “Get up and go wash yourself. Then come to my home office for a spanking,” Jack instructed.

Rhys rose from the dildo only carefully enough not to tear himself, and he made a face of discomfort. Then he ran to the bathroom to wash himself. He hoped Jack would take him after he is finished with the beating. That he won’t be too disgusting for him.

* * *

Rhys was lucky that Jack liked creativity and usually individual toys got boring after one use and wouldn’t be used again for a few weeks. So, when he was presented with the chair with a hole for a dildo the very next day after spending an hour on it, it was too soon for him.

“No prepping, just sit,” Jack nudged him forward harshly.

Rhys took a deep breath, leaned on the armrests and positioned himself. Jack fucked him a few hours ago, and the dildo on the chair was quite small, so the only obstacle will be the burn.

Getting the head in turned out to be the most painful, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Then it was almost easy. His rim burned a little, but the toy slid in all the way without further resistance.

He sat on the chair and looked up at his Daddy expectantly.

“Up,” Jack ordered simply.

Rhys obeyed. He hoped Jack wouldn’t have him fuck himself on the dry dildo to orgasm. That wouldn’t be unusual, and it really wasn’t one of Rhys’ favourite activities.

Jack pulled him forward by his collar, tugging so hard Rhys fell to the floor. While he was getting up, Jack switched the dildo on the chair for a bigger one.

“You can lick it if you want lube but make yourself gag a little. Don’t waste my time.”

Rhys knelt in front of the chair and sucked the dildo (pink with glitter in it) in his mouth. He took it far enough to choke, did everything his Daddy liked, until he was pulled up by his hair. He took the hint and positioned himself again.

With the spit, it was about as bad as the last one, not worse. It didn’t burn, but the stretch wasn’t as bearable with this one, and Rhys knew better than to pull up and thrust down again, because Jack would see it as an attempt to escape, and he would punish him.

When he was seated, Rhys was breathing a little harder, and he was slightly aroused.

“Up.”

The cycle repeated, but this time, if Rhys wanted lube, he had to blow Jack. He got to work with enthusiasm, and soon he was collecting the CEO’s release in his mouth. He had to fight the instinct to swallow.

When the next dildo – shiny green one with small bumps – was covered by Jack’s come and a little spit, Rhys didn’t even wait for Jack to urge him on and started lowering himself on it.

Rhys himself was impressed that he did it. This one was nearly as big as Jack, and he took it with little to no prep. He didn’t have the time to pride himself in his accomplishment, because Jack was already pulling him up.

Jack’s big hands on his hips felt like the most natural thing ever, and Rhys let himself be pulled up until only the tip of the dildo was in. He didn’t resist when he was slammed back down, only yelped a little from the burn and stretch.

“Up,” Jack ordered, smirking at the panting slave.

The next dildo was black, smooth, and definitely bigger than Jack. “Want some lube?” Jack asked, pulling the younger man back so he was pressed back to his chest. Rhys nodded and begged nicely, and he felt Jack’s resulting chuckles reverberate through his slim body.

“You are allowed to jerk off,” Jack said and began pinching Rhys’ nipples.

Rhys was hard, so he supposed it won’t be long. He began stroking himself, closing his eyes and imagining Jack inside him, because that was the predicament that usually brought him to orgasm.

But something felt wrong as he was touching himself, and Rhys soon found himself straying further from release. When Jack stopped toying with him and just gently hugged him, pressing him to his chest, little Rhys lost interest completely. The slave frowned.

“Something wrong?” Jack cooed behind him.

“It feels wrong without you, Daddy…” Rhys whined. “I can’t come without you.”

In fact, Rhys couldn’t remember a situation when he was turned on without Jack’s input – either direct, or some of his orders. No morning boners, no wet dreams, no desire to bring himself pleasure. His pleasure belonged to the master.

“Pity. Looks like you will have to do without lube this time…”

Rhys face formed into a pout, but he obeyed. He positioned himself, pushed the head in with one hand.

The first few inches were only about the stretch. There was enough lubrication in him to cover the dildo. But then it started burning, and the stretch became too much. Two thirds to go, Rhys whined and stopped.

“Something wrong, pumpkin?” Jack asked with concern. “Here, let me help you.” He took hold of the slave’s hips and began to push him down.

Rhys’ hands shot up and he gripped Jack’s shoulders. Not trying to stop him, just seeking support. The older man didn’t brush him off, and so he stayed like that, much more content and relaxed. The pain shooting though his abdomen felt like a little inconvenience now.

Rhys was gasping for breath by the time his ass touched the chair again. Jack let him sit there for a minute. He even kissed him.

“Up,” Jack nudged his chin gently.

Even pulling off the dildo was hard this time, but Rhys managed, he always did.

Jack brought up another dildo, one in various pastel colours. It was the second largest they had ever played with, and Rhys gulped. He won’t be able to fit it in, he will tear. Jack will have a doctor patch him up, then, but it will be an inconvenience to the CEO.

“Daddy?” he asks nervously.

“It’s alright, babe,” Jack pats his head. “You deserve lube this time.”

But even covered by lube, the dildo still looks terrifying. Rhys begins to shake, but Jack is here, guiding his hips. He is allowed to hold onto him again, and so the twink uses his cybernetic hand to hold the dildo and his organic one to hug Jack’s shoulders.

Rhys lowers himself a little, but the dildo just slips against his hole. He tries again but gets the same result. He only gets the damn thing in when Jack helps him. The older man scowls, takes hold of the dildo himself and pushes it inside Rhys.

“That wasn’t that hard, was it?” he asks the panting man. “Go on now.”

Rhys pushes himself another couple inches down, and when he stops, Jack takes over, pushing his hips down with his strong hands. It’s a slow movement, but that doesn’t help. Rhys feels his rim tear at the relentless stretch, and he yelps. “Daddy!”

“We’re almost there,” Jack sooths him and continues pushing. More tears, stinging and bruising, and Rhys screams, desperately clawing at Jack’s shoulder.

Jack stops the movement when Rhys begins to have trouble breathing through the pain. He holds him in the air with one hand and uses the other to wipe away his tears. “You are doing great, baby boy,” he tells him. “Just a little more, and then I’ll reward you.”

Rhys finds himself nodding. He’d do anything. He moans when Jack kisses him again, tender and loving. He leans into it.

At the same time, Jack violently slaps the boy’s hips down. Rhys teeth clamp down, biting through Jack’s lip.

The world is white for a few seconds, only filled with pain. Rhys is shaking violently, making the chair rattle. His insides feel like he sat on the branding iron and not Jack’s second favourite dildo.

Slowly, the past seconds come back to him. He tastes copper in his mouth. His eyes snap open, and instead of painful moans and whines, his mouth forms frantic words. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Daddy! I didn’t want to, I’m sorry, so sorry!”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Jack shushed him quickly. He is smiling kindly; his hands are warm and soothing on Rhys’ hips as he holds him down so he wouldn’t hurt himself further in his struggling. “You didn’t want to bite me, but the pain made you bite, right?”

Rhys nods frantically, still desperate to apologise, but Jack is kissing him again, blood and saliva mixing, and it’s messy and wonderful. Rhys finally calms a little.

“I have a reward for you, baby,” Jack says as he licks his own blood from Rhys’ lips. “But I’ll rather have you bound. You don’t mind, do you? I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Jack ties Rhys wrists and ankles to the chair as usually, and ads two strips of leather to hold his hips down, so the dildo doesn’t shift in him and cause more damage. Then, Jack kneels in front of the sub.

“I haven’t done this in a long time. Might get a little messy,” he warns as he takes Rhys’ dick in his mouth.

The younger man is stunned to silence, and it takes his Daddy a few minutes of sucking and licking to make him moan. But when he does, he doesn’t stop. He’s never felt anything like this.

“Oh, Daddy! Thank you, Daddy!” he moans. His hips are secured to the chair, so he doesn’t need to worry about thrusting into Jack’s mouth without permission when his cock begins to fill.

When Rhys is almost fully hard, Jack pulls off. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning at the bloody stain it leaves there. Rhys feels a surge of guilt, and he sniffles.

“It’s alright, baby,” Jack smiles at him. “It hurts only a little.” He pats Rhys thigh, licking the side of his cock. “Bad thing is,” he says, licking the other side, “I might bite down when it hurts.”

Rhys is stunned once again, unable to do anything as he watches a part of his foreskin being pinched between Jack’s canines. And Jack bites down _hard_.

Waking up from the shock, Rhys screams and trashes with energy he didn’t know he had. He tries to beg, but before he can form a single word, Jack bites again, not far from the first wound.

“ _Please!_ ” he screams, choking on air as he tries not to pass out, but then Jack bites again and Rhys is engulfed by darkness.

* * *

When he wakes up, he feels a lot of pain. Throbbing pain in his abdomen, agony in the form of liquid fire spreading through his groin. There is the taste of come on his tongue, and he can feel some on his face too.

Groaning, Rhys raises himself on his forearms, so he can look down. His sight travels past his red abused nipples, past the X-shaped scar on his belly, to his poor dick covered by sterile cloth. All the blood was washed from his thighs – a sign that the doctor was already here, and Rhys is out of danger.

Knowing that his Daddy took care of him while he was asleep, Rhys lets himself fall back again. He sighs, smiles to himself, and goes back to sleep, needing the energy to heal, so he is perfect for his Daddy.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElfWriting).
> 
> -Full list of smut:  
> anal fingering  
> anal sex  
> asphyxiation  
> biting  
> blow jobs  
> branding  
> chair with dick (it probably has a name)  
> choking  
> cock warming  
> collars  
> come eating  
> creative sexual toys  
> dildos  
> edging  
> fisting  
> forced orgasms  
> fucking machines  
> humiliation  
> knotting  
> masturbation  
> overstimulation  
> plugs  
> spanking  
> thigh fucking  
> unconscious/sleep sex  
> underwater blowjob (*Tim’s voice* “I disgust myself”)  
> unrealistic sizes  
> vibrators  
> whipping, beating
> 
> -Other warnings:  
> blood  
> brainwashing  
> emotional manipulation  
> light pissplay (for humiliation purposes, not in sexual way)  
> unrealistic medicine  
> violence  
> waterboarding and other playing with water that’s not sane


End file.
